


Oaths

by Siera_Writes



Series: Of living things, my son, some are made friends with fire [2]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom
Genre: Background hatsome, Gen, One sided, Urban Magic Yogs, Very slight body horror, demon!trott, drowning tw, fae, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siera_Writes/pseuds/Siera_Writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She slows her trailing movement against the river's current, and falls back to the mud, her form spreading as thin and far through the water as she can manage without losing her purpose altogether. Lets herself attune to the every movement around her. The blankness she feels almost engulfing her would quicken her heart, if she had one in this form. She clings to the terror, though. It's the one thing unifying her, keeping her together. If she lets go now, she will have to return to the Other Place, and then what will she do.</p><p>She promised, swore an oath. She will manage this. The woman lies in wait throughout the river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oaths

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. I've been working on a couple of things but a combination of writer's block, overly ambitious stories, and preperations for school, havd meant that stuff is taking a while to complete.
> 
> I mean, I did have plans - and still do - for a great troffy Uni AU oneshot complete with pining and angst, and of course, rough sex (it was an otp prompt on tumblr, okay?) so that'll be done at some point. Probably.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this little oneshot, written from midnight to just before one in the morning. Hopefully it might tide you over, and help tie up some loose ends.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy. As always, this is unbataed, and given when I wrote it, probably chocka with mistakes, but ya know. Also, thanks so much to those who left encouragements for me during my GCSEs. I don't want to sound narcissistic, but I'm so pleased with how they went.

Beneath the murk, a figure slumbers. She's barely aware, more liquid than tangible, and at one with the sluggishly flowing river. Her form is torn and reunited in tandem with the current, molecules swirling in effortless dance as she waits.

Light does not touch her. She's too deep, lingering just above the brackish bed where bottles and bricks and scrap metal are degrading and returning to the earth. There are few fish here, and those few skirt around her influence; with their dependence on baser instincts, animals recognise fae for what they are.

The water fae glides in a lazy stream, a cold rush against the natural ebb of the river water. Weed flexes in tattered ribbons in the wake if her passage. She loves coming here to think, can finally allow her form to relax and bend. But she can't. Not now. She has to stay vigilant. She owes it.

She slows her trailing movement against the river's current, and falls back to the mud, her form spreading as thin and far through the water as she can manage without losing her purpose altogether. Lets herself attune to the every movement around her. The blankness she feels almost engulfing her would quicken her heart, if she had one in this form. She clings to the terror, though. It's the one thing unifying her, keeping her together. If she lets go now, she will have to return to the Other Place, and then what will she do.

She promised, swore an oath. She will manage this.

The woman lies in wait throughout the river.

The wait is long - she has no real sense of time without a physical body, can barely think. All she knows is the promise she must keep. It's burning at her, like hellfire. In this state, the water is washing her away.

It could be minutes, hours. It's almost at the point where she can't bear how she's torn at, will have to shatter like brittle glass and coalesce and fail.

But she feels it - a shockwave, and sudden boiling heat - and she would scream, if she could; it hurts her so much. Unbearable. Her very being is tearing and burning. The pain is a sudden catalyst. It triggers her withdrawal - she manages to pull herself into a single jet of ice water - and sweeps through the water towards the heat source.

A man. With wings of rich wine and fire for blood. Fae. His hair is buffeted slightly by gentle currents, coiling like the greenery she passed earlier. His eyes are blank, unseeing. Dead? She feels a pain throughout her disembodied self. Why? Why is it that it hurts her to see him so? He seems familiar. 

She coils around him to draw him to the surface, before the pretty flames in him can be extingushed. He's too beautiful to die in water; it would be too cruel. She can feel a purity emanating from him. He's like no fae she's ever met before.

But she knows him. She's sure of that now.

As she tows his body towards the surface, she regains her humanoid form, and memories begin to flood back - the effect of being stretched and diluted beyond herself is reversing. 

She grabs his hand, and the light of the moon is pale and wan above them, so close, the surface, so close, and yet the other fae's wings are like sails, hooking on currents and pulling them back down to the depths. Her oath makes her heart ache and her lungs burn.

She can't die like this. A water fae can't drown. She'd never realised how bulky his frame was, before this. There's one last shuddering gulp of water she can take before she shares the effect of drowning. She kicks desperately, clawing with her left hand while the other heaves the demon the final few feet. And they're up. They're safe.

She can breathe now. Her promise is fulfilled. She paddles the small remaining distance to the closest bank, and feels the brunet coming to. Trott. His name is Trott. They sprawl on the stony beach - barely even an outcrop, really, as they fight to regain breath. She never wants to experience that again. Weakened by her own ability, betrayed by her own element. She's so glad she could help, though. For once, she had helped.

She hopes it makes up for what she's done to the man before, in some small way. She's a better person now, she knows. Even if she has no soul. She looks to where her hand is clasped in a bone-crushing grasp. Trott deserves a soul.

The fae is recovering, but slowly. He looks gaunt, his skin holding a grey cast, except where vessels are close under the skin. It glows there - a subtle but obvious illumination leaking through. His usually warm eyes are flinty, black. They can't walk through the city like this, she knows. He can't return to his lovers like this. They'll be so scared. He needs to return to the other realm to recover, so his every second he doesn't weaken further.

He brushes away the hair plastered to his forehead with an idle sweep. He seems troubled. She knows exactly why.

Trott clears his throat, before working his jaw in a check of his ability to talk. When he does speak, his voice is like gravel, and he coughs, river water sputtering past his lips as his chest evacuates it, the back of a wrist half covering his mouth.

Unsure, she reaches over to place a palm on his back. He's so warm, internal heat close to breaking the skin, so his clothes are near steaming. His ribs shift below her palm as he regains his breath.

He turns to her with a too-quick snap around to face her, as though he hadn't realised she was beside him until that moment, and words begin falling from his lips in a desperate flurry. "Thank you, Kim, you didn't have to agree, I know how painful-"

She barely manages to cut him off there; she finds herself holding a finger to his lips - and it was the only way to make him stop, really, it was! - and he trails off with realisation - there's a small widening to the corners of his eyes that tells her he's finally realised. She drops her hand, blushes. He doesn't say anything, there's just a small twitch to his lips. Not in mirth. Seems more self-deprecating, apologetic, than anything. Good lord. The demon deserves to be a saint.

He draws his shivering limbs into some semblance of coordination through sheer force of will, and scrambles to a teetering upright. She frowns, concerned and about to reach out to support him, before she thinks better of it. He's never cold. He's been badly affected by his plunge.

"I don't want to, but I'll have to go away for a while - I mean, look at me - but I'll try to be as quick as I can, if I'm actually able to get back... Can you tell them? For me? Only when you know for sure I can get back... Otherwise, let them think I'm gone. It'd be so much kinder than getting their hopes up." He smiles, miserable.

She just nods. She knows the chances of getting back to Smith, Ross, are low. He might be summoned by somone else, bound ito a service that corrodes his morals, forces him to be just as base as every other summoned demon. He might just never have the opportunity to reach them - time between realms is never linear. They might be dead before he sees them again, if he's not incredibly lucky.

She waits for Trott to disappear in a whorl of smoke and embers, to feel a rift open before her. It's incredible to witness. Trott grimaces while he rends space, tail dragging limply on the ground, disturbing the loose stones, wings fallen to rest on the gravel.

He's about to move forward, step through the other side, before he turns, curiosity written across his face. The effort of holding the tear makes him grit his teeth slightly. "Uh, how long? Kim?"

She know exactly what he's asking. She smiles, faux-brightly, carelessly. "Ever since we met." In the other place, where they met, he glowed like a star, gravity immense. She couldn't stop herself if she'd even been aware of what her feelings meant st the time. It's never been encouraged - fae, feelings. They tend to make a volatile mix. Dangerous. Her false smile falls away in a quick sweep, overcome by memories of what she used to be bubbling up, self-loathing heady besides.

All the while, she can see him trying to work out how he didn't notice it. Her feelings. No more questions. Kim sighs, turns on her heel and walks away without looking back, in order to find her way from the outcrop. If she goes now, then so will Trott. And it's easier than watching him leave.


End file.
